


Developments

by Tedronai



Series: Everything Is Better with Asmodean [9]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Asmodean Lives, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days after the conquest of Illian, Taim summons "Jasin Natael" for a lesson, and a chat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Developments

**Author's Note:**

> In an unexpected turn of events -- it's an update! I told you guys, this 'verse isn't dead. x)

Asmodean followed Estevan Marle through a gateway, emerging into the already-familiar room in Taim’s quarters in the Black Tower. Taim’s Palace, the Asha’man had taken to calling the main building. Asmodean supposed it would look like a palace, in its unfinished state, to a bunch of peasants. He wondered idly if there were plans for an actual tower in the future, seeing as the place was called the Black Tower, not the Village with Black Walls.

Taim was nowhere in evidence, but this didn’t seem to surprise Marle. “Make yourself at home,” the Asha’man said with something that might have been an amused smirk. “The M’Hael will see you when he gets back.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea when that might be?” Asmodean asked. Taim was the one who had sent for him, and it didn’t seem like him to make people wait for no reason. And it was rather late already; surely there couldn’t be anything that routinely required his attention at this hour?

Marle snorted. “The M’Hael is not accountable to the likes of me, master bard,” he said. As he was leaving, he stopped at the door to glance over his shoulder at Asmodean, looking like he wanted to say something, but then he reconsidered and walked out.

Left alone, Asmodean looked around the sitting room. Everything seemed precisely as it had been the last time he’d been there, all the way down to the coat folded across the back of a chair and the ink-splotched sheets of paper on the desk. Taim obviously had not spent a lot of time here in the past few days. The empty wine bottle on the small side table looked very much like the one from that night… Asmodean didn’t think Taim would have had the time or the occasion to indulge in that much wine alone. He was still frowning at the bottle when the door opened again.

 

Mazrim Taim didn’t look like he’d had a good night’s sleep since Illian, but at the sight of Asmodean, the irritable scowl on his face melted into a much more agreeable expression that seemed to hold genuine warmth. “Natael,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Any time,” Asmodean replied. He watched as Taim wandered to the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of expensive Altaran red. “A long day?” he ventured as Taim popped the cork and poured himself a glass.

“The latest of many,” Taim said and proceeded to down half the glass in one go. “There’s been a development,” he continued, refilling the glass before seating himself in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He raised his booted feet to rest on the edge of the table, eliciting a frown from Asmodean. Taim raised an eyebrow as though daring Asmodean to comment.

Asmodean didn’t. “What kind of a development?” he asked instead. He channelled to fill another glass and float it over as he sat — in a far more civilised manner — on the couch.

Taim gave his characteristic almost-smile and shook his head. “It’s still strange to see you do that,” he said. “To think that you’ve been channelling all this time.” He made a small, dismissive gesture before Asmodean could think of anything to say and continued, “ Anyway. Someone arrived. Calls himself Logain.”

It took Asmodean a moment to mentally backtrack and figure that this must be the ‘development’ Taim had mentioned. “Oh.”

The almost-smile never faltered, but Taim’s voice was tense as he went on, “That is, of course, impossible. Even if he made it out of Tar Valon alive, he should still be gentled.”

“Of course,” Asmodean replied. He had only heard of this Logain; the less fortunate false Dragon had got himself captured and severed before he could have been used by any of the Chosen. And severing was irreversible; it had been irreversible with all the medical technology of the Age of Legends and it was difficult to believe that one of the primitive channellers of this Age could have managed something not Semirhage and Aginor together could have dreamt up. And _that_ meant…

As though reading his thoughts, Taim shook his head. “I don’t think he’s a Forsaken in disguise,” he said. “That would be rather obvious. Only a fool would claim that name if it wasn’t his.”

“So…” Asmodean hesitated, watching the other man carefully. “You believe him? That he is who he claims to be?” Taim nodded curtly, channelling the bottle of wine over across the room. “Then why does he bother you so?”

Taim froze for a second, looking startled by the question. “Because he’s…” He trailed off, frowning. “He doesn’t _bother_ me.” Asmodean could hear, see, almost _smell_ the lie, but said nothing, letting Taim continue. “He’s different from any of the other students, that’s all. It may be a stretch to call him a student at all. I could promote him to Asha’man rank right away except that I don’t want to give him any ideas about his position here until I see how he settles in. But it’s obvious that he’s… _competent._ ”

Asmodean raised his eyebrows; that was high praise from Taim. “Well, if you’re positive that he’s not a Forsaken in disguise, then that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Taim replied curtly. He didn’t sound fully convinced.

“Just… if I may suggest… keep an eye on him?” Asmodean said. He was not convinced that another one of the Chosen wasn’t involved in some capacity, even if they weren’t parading as Logain himself, but he couldn’t be seen having too much interest in Forsaken affairs.

 

The look Taim gave him was a mixture of irritation and wry amusement. “Obviously. But I didn’t summon you to talk about Logain.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost as though composing himself, all traces of amusement gone. “Natael, I asked you once about warding dreams, but something happened and I had no chance to pursue the subject.”

Asmodean suppressed a shiver. “Yes,” he said. “I remember. I should have remembered earlier. This is… this could be very important.” He looked at Taim, who was watching him with a speculating look. Exhausted though the man might be, he was still keenly intelligent and observant and might hear more than Asmodean intended to say… But did Asmodean dare risk leaving Taim unprepared for what was a very real possibility — one of the other Chosen being out to get him — just because he was afraid for his own sorry hide? “You’ve had dreams,” he said quietly, displaying rather greater calm than he felt. “Haven’t you? This… asking about the wards, it’s not a precaution for a hypothetical situation, is it?”

Taim closed his eyes briefly. “I can deal with it,” he said firmly, with such confidence that Asmodean found it hard not to believe him. The familiar, sardonic almost-smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “But I could use a decent night’s sleep some time soon.”

“Of course.” Asmodean nodded and seized _saidin_ , what little of it he could access. “Well, the ward itself is fairly simple.” If one of the Chosen was after Taim, he would require more than a decent night’s sleep. “There are more complex variations, some of which require more of the Power than I’m able to draw as it is, but what I can teach you should be sufficient…” He gave a nervous laugh. “Of course, if someone like Ishamael or Lanfear decided to break into your dreams, nothing I could teach you would be enough to stop them.”

“Good thing they’re both dead, then, isn’t it?” Taim said almost casually.

Asmodean nearly jumped, realising what he had just said, but Taim seemed to be fully focused on replicating the weaves he was demonstrating. “Good thing indeed.” He thought he managed to sound almost normal. “And for more reasons than that, I should imagine.”

 

Taim glanced distractedly at him before focusing on the weave again. “Indeed.” Then he replicated the weave again for good measure — unnecessary, Asmodean thought; he had picked it up perfectly the first time — and looked at Asmodean again. “Thank you. This should make my life considerably easier.”

“Glad I could help,” Asmodean replied. He was still not convinced that his slip had gone unnoticed, but there wasn’t exactly any way to know for sure without asking, and asking would rather defeat the purpose of trying not to draw attention to it. “And you’re going to get some sleep?” he prompted, hoping it did not come across as patronising.

Taim gave him a wry look. “Yes, I will get some sleep,” he said. “Soon. I need to look over a couple of reports first. Of course…” An undercurrent of amusement crept into his voice. “If you don’t believe me, you can always stay and make sure I sleep.”

Asmodean barked a surprised laugh. “Marle already thinks you’re sleeping with me. That would, I believe, all but confirm his suspicions.”

“He thinks that, does he?” Taim replied. He leaned his head back, watching Asmodean with what the Forsaken could only call a curious expression. “And does that bother you?”

Asmodean considered the question for a moment. Did it bother him? Half the nobility of Andor and Cairhien likely thought he was sleeping with al’Thor. This was hardly different. “People will think what they think,” he said eventually. It took approximately another heartbeat until he realised there was another way to interpret Taim’s carefully casual question. “Wait. Do you… do you _want_ to?”

“Do I want, what?” Taim replied, frowning… And then he seemed to catch on to what Asmodean was getting at. “Oh.”

It was, Asmodean reflected, the first time he’d ever seen Taim rendered speechless by an emotion that wasn’t rage. The detached part of his mind offering useless commentary considered this an achievement. “Yes,” he said finally. “That _is_ an option, you know.”

“I… see.” Taim was silent for a long moment, watching Asmodean with an unreadable expression. He reached for his glass, only to find it empty, and after a moment’s hesitation placed his hand awkwardly back on the armrest. “You don’t really seem to want it, though,” he said at length.

Now it was Asmodean’s turn to stare in silence while he gathered his thoughts. “Yes, well, I—” How was he supposed to explain that he was so used to going along with his partners’ expectations that he wasn’t sure he knew what it was like to actively want it? That sex was so irrelevant to him that declining — disappointing his partner — had rarely ever been worth the effort? He wished he had never brought the subject up. He really, really hoped he hadn’t ruined everything.

 

Taim let the silence stretch on for a moment longer before he spoke again. “I suspect there’s a story there but you don’t need to go into it now,” he said. “Or ever, if you’d rather not.” Asmodean couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and so after a few more moments of not quite comfortable silence, Taim spoke again. “Would you imagine, the thought of having a friend is even stranger than the thought of having a lover.”

Asmodean made what he hoped was a suitably noncommittal sound.

“That is to say,” Taim continued, “I consider you a friend. I hope you don’t mind?”

Well, this conversation was _not_ going the way Asmodean might have expected, but he supposed he could only blame himself for stumbling into the topic, however inadvertently. Schooling his face into a carefully neutral expression, he replied, “No, it’s fine. I mean, yes, I… do consider us friends.” He wasn’t sure it was wise to admit that much, but he was long past the point of pretending that he had no friends, that nobody meant anything to him. Taim, Min Farshaw… al’Thor himself, as much as the Dragon could be a friend to someone like Asmodean…

Taim relaxed visibly. “That’s good to hear.” Then his expression turned wry. “I confess I know little about friendship. I suppose I had some friends, growing up in Saldaea, but after I learnt that I could channel…”

Asmodean wasn’t sure he was much more knowledgeable on the topic of friendship, but nodded anyway. “How old were you?” he asked. “If I may ask.”

“Seventeen,” Taim replied.

The number made Asmodean blink; he’d expected young, but seventeen was but a boy! “So it’s been…”

“Ten years,” Taim filled in. “Could be eleven. I may have lost count at some point.”

So Taim was less than thirty. It made sense — he didn’t look like he could possibly have slowed much yet — yet on the other hand… That was such a very young age to be saddled with such responsibility as he had. Of course, al’Thor — the Dragon himself — was even younger, but that was sometimes disconcertingly easy to forget, especially when half the time Asmodean was more than half convinced it was Lews Therin looking at him through al’Thor’s eyes.

 

“I didn’t mean for you to feel sorry for me,” Taim said, a sharpness to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m not—” Asmodean began, then backtracked, “I mean of course I do, but—” He sighed and threw up his hands in frustration. “What I mean is, I know. And you would do well to not confuse sympathy for pity, Mazrim.”

Taim merely gave him a wry look, but somehow it seemed to signify that everything was fine. “I’d best get started on those reports.” He got up and walked over to his desk, his attention seemingly already on the stack of papers piled there. “You can stay, if you want. I’m not asking you to, but you can. Just to sleep. Like last time.”

Asmodean nodded slowly. “That would be… nice.” Somehow, even after all the verbal and mental stumbling, the thought of staying suddenly wasn’t awkward at all. Taim had a talent for that, and Asmodean had no idea how it worked, he had known only a handful of people in his long life who had the same talent of dispelling awkwardness, but he was grateful for it. “I think I’ll stay.”


End file.
